Storm
by TruthTellerMorrigan
Summary: But now that she was here in front of him, he could see she was more than okay. She didn't need a savior; Mor could save herself.


"It happened today."

Mor looked up at Amren's voice. The tiny monster pulled out the chair opposite Mor at the kitchen table and plopped herself down with an unrehearsed ease. She held up her hand and studied her sharp nails. Mor narrowed her eyes. Never mind that she had been happily munching on her cold leftovers just moments before, and now she had to share her previously peaceful space with her cousin's busy-body know-it-all Second in Command, but Mor could tell Amren had information. And from the way Amen had bounced into the kitchen, Mor would even guess to say whatever had put the drake in such a bubbly mood would not bode well for herself. Mor could feel her blood rolling beneath her skin as the figure across from her continued to pick at her nails.

" _What_ happened Amren?"

"Feyre spoke about Tamlin."

Now that _was_ interesting. The last time Mor asked, Azriel had said there was no news from the Spring Court. Mor would've placed good money that it would've been Rhys who would've been the first one to ask about Tamlin. He had certainly sent Az away on enough missions to indicate that his information regarding Tamlin was not easily sourced. Mor wondered if perhaps her cousin's unyielding patience had finally worn thin? But maybe...Mor had knownTamlin had been a sore subject for Rhys since the first day Ryhs had returned from under the mountain. In his first breath to her in 50 years, he had gasped out Feyre's name and all she was, what she'd done and he'd broke done in her arms. And then once he had gathered himself enough to speak again, he growled about Tamlin. Even with Amren's call to bring Feyre to their Court, he had refused. She loved Tamlin, he had claimed. She _loved_ Tamlin. Again and again, he refused to hear any plans from either Mor or Amren because as far as he was concerned Feyre ha chosen Tamlin. She was marrying her prince, and there was nothing he would do to stand in the way of her choice.

When Feyre's wedding day had come and she had summoned a savior, Mor thought she might have died in relief. Instead of endless pain, Rhys's eyes finally shone with hope. And they hadn't stopped shinning yet.

Mor leaned toward Amren now, her chewy food forgotten. She had to know. "She spoke to Rhys?"

Amren gave a hiss of a laugh. "Certainly not. Cassian. She nearly burned him in 2."

Mor threw her head back and laughed heartily. She would've loved to see the expression on Cassian's face as Feyre came at him with flames. The two commanders laughed at Cassian's expense and then Mor asked. "Rhys told you this?"

"Nuala. Overheard her whispering the story to the twin and when I confronted them she told me just to get rid of me."

Mor nodded. That she could believe. The wraiths were notoriously afraid of whatever creature it was that lived beneath the surface of Amren's flesh. If the twins knew then surely...

"Cassian and Feyre were training alone today?" She tried to keep her voice steady.

Amren leveled a look in her direction. "Rhys was there, as usual. You know how he prefers not to leave her side if he can help it. But Nuala told me something rather interesting happened with Cassian. Maybe you're not the only Oracle in this court after all."

Mor swore. So this what why she had looked so merry. "Just say it."

Amren smiled. Mor didn't give a damn about the drake's knowing looks. She and Amren had had _that_ argument too many times to pretend otherwise.

"She seems to have picked up on your history awfully quick for someone so new to our court."

"My history." The words were low. Mor's blood rumbled dangerously.

"When Cassian asked Feyre about Tamlin, she asked him about you."

Mor was silent. She wanted to run.

"About how he chases you like a dog."

Thunder rumbled outside.

Amren rolled her eyes, but she continued.

"How you treat him like old news. Poor Azriel. Nuala said that was the first time she's ever seen him stumble while sparring."

A bolt of lightning struck down outside and heavy rain starting began pouring down. Amren looked out over the wide balcony that usually seemed so welcoming on The House of Wind. The tiny drake pursed her lips at the sight of the dark storm that had so suddenly seemed to form out of nothing. "Very dramatic of you, Morrigan."

"Well, that's my style." Mor's voice was calm, deadly. She pushed her plate away from her and stood up in disgust. She clenched her fists. No. Mor would not let her get under her skin. She knew Amren tried to use Azriel to force her into a fight for centuries. It only worked very few years. That was Amren's style; She knew Mor could counter her dark power, and so she would try to bait her whenever there was an opening. And it seemed like today Nuala had handed her a nice fresh opportunity on a plate. No wonder Amren had crawled out of her apartment and made her way over to the House of Wind when Rhys was otherwise occupied. Forget her power. The flashes and gust of energy were boring. Mor wanted to feel the sting of a slap against the bitch's haughty face. She deserved it.

Mor slammed her bedroom door. She knew Amren probably wasn't even in the House of Wind anymore- she had probably left the moment Mor diapered from the kitchen down the hallway in a flash of angry power. But Mor wanted to slam something. She waned to break something. And the sound of the harsh rain coming down outside was not working to calm her edge. The lightning struck again, louder now than before.

She walked over to the tall windows that framed the rooms in the House of Wind for Illyrian access. Her finger unlocked the beautifully crafted iron latch that kept the glass sealed. So long had it been since she stood on these windows? She had slept in the Townhouse all the years that Rhys had been absent.

But when Rhys had shown up in Velaris with the woman Mor recognized as his mate by his side, it hadn't taken long before Mor had moved her things back into the House of Wind. Her old room was comforting, and greeted her like a old sweater- wrapping around her with a smile and warm memories. The years without Rhys had been cold and haunting, but now...

Ofcourse, it also didn't hurt that Azriel's room was next to her own.

Her storm continued to roll over Velaris. Mor stretched her fingers out. The thunder that boomed in the sky almost seemed to call to her. She opened the windows and stepped out onto the ledge. Lightning struck. She closed her eyes and arched her back towards the call of power.

Her power.

It purred beneath her skin.

Mor took a deep, steadying breath, titling her head back. The wind picked up, the rain fell harder, and the thunder rumbled. She loosened her fingers. The splatters suddenly seemed to fall slower against the roof. Mor straighten up and rested one hand steadily against the cool pane of glass to her right as she surveyed Velaris under the steadying storm.

She hoped Amren slipped in a puddle on her way back to her apartment.

Thunder rumbled lightly in the distance- the sound of a storm leaving it's last trace of goodbye.

One final look over he City of Starlight was all Mor granted herself before she stepped down from her ledge and swiftly closed the tall glass panes. Unlike the Illyrians, Mor didn't hear the skies beckoning to her. She didn't need to ride on a wave of air and wind in order to feel the shape of her freedom in her hands. Riding the wind was an Illyrian trait, and she would leave those flying games for the brutal warriors.

She was a queen.

Mor shook off her heavy clothes she had worn, and tossed them into her wardrobe. For bed tonight she would something sleek and delicate. On nights when Amren riled her up, it made her feel better to feel beautiful by spending the night with the only person who would ever make her feel complete.

Mor stepped into her silk chemise and looked into her vanity mirror. Her blonde hair ran in long ringlets down her shoulders. "Goodnight, gorgeous," she spoke dreamily to her reflection.

She remembered when there had been a time when her nurse maid had whispered those words to her as a young girl. Never her mother. No. Court of Nightmare parents were notoriously cruel. It was in the breeding.

Mor slipped into her bed, silk sheets surrounding her. She picked up her book of Pyrthian Fairy Myths from er bedside- a treat for herself. As Third in Command, it was more practical to read books on war or strategy. And those books did appeal to Mor in their own ways. She enjoyed a nice military strategy plan just as much as the next girl. But The Pyrthian Fairy Myths held a special kind of allure for her that she had never been able to shake. Her parents had certainly never read to her, and her nurse maid had been forbidden and too scared to break her parent's strict rules. And so when Mor had found the brightly colored book in Rhys's library, she had immediately stole it and kept it in her room for days...days like today. When her heart ached. And she needed time to herself. Time to forget the pain. Time to forget his face. Time to imagine a different life. an easier life.

Mor's light was on.

Azriel could see it under her door as he walked down the hall in the House of Wind towards his room a the end of the Hall. It was late. He had been meeting with Rhys and hatching a new plan about how to infiltrate the Mortal Court. With his additional spies working in both Mortal lands and Spring Court, he was spending more of his days away from the city. It was his job, and he would continue to do it to ensure that Rhys would never have to sacrifice himself to another dictator like Amarantha.

A shadow slithered towards Azriel's ear as he inclined his head to Mor's door. _She's dreaming of you._

He should go to bed. It was late, and he already had a full agenda tomorrow. It would be easier to walk away. It would be smarter to walk away. He would walk away.

He pressed the door open.

Mor's bedside lamp was indeed still lit. She had fallen asleep while reading, he could see now. She had propped herself up on her many fluffy pillows in an effort to make an adequate area to read. She was even still halfway sitting up, with her head tilted forward towards where her book of fairy stories was tipped over in her lap.

Azriel's eyes caught on the fairy book. He looked in the hall. It would be easier to go to his room. She wouldn't even know he had been here.

But the fairy book snagged at something in his mind. Azriel closed Mor's door to the hallway. He didn't need Cassian walking by and seeing the two of them in here. He already received enough looks from him as it was. It would be easier this way, wouldn't it? He had certainly used that excuse with Mor enough times. Who was he kidding, anyway? Nothing had ever been easy with Mor. Not since the very first day.

Mor's breathing was soft and steady, and Azriel waited for the shadows to poke around his mind, but they were quiet. They always were around Mor. She had an uncanny way of rendering his mind silent even on his best days. His fingers moved towards her book, his curiosiy getting the better of him.

 _The Captain and the Courtier_

Axriel smiled. It was her favorite story, he knew. She had recounted it to him several times, once there had been a rather lively retelling at Rita's when Mor has been far too drunk to recall doing so the next morning, and he had even read her the story once at her request after a bad dream.

The story was about a female Captain of a Ship who takes a group of Fae rebels captive aboard her ship. And it ends with the Captain falling deeply in love with the one Courtier who has the lowest rank of all the captive Fae. Azriel thought the story was silly and unrealistic, and Mor had asked him with a wry smile, "Whats' the fun in dreams unless they're silly and unrealistic, Az?"

Azriel knew the real reason she had read the fairy stories. Mor's childhood was similar to his own; a broken promise. They would forever look back on those years and feel cheated out of happiness. Never feeling safe or protected or cherished. They were both pawns in their parent's own games, and Azriel wondered if that stain would ever be fully removed from their memories. He watched Mor sleep, peacefully this time. He was happy to see it. There would be other days, when her rests would not be so unburdened.

"Mmm," she murmured in her sleep. A sound of contentment.

Azriel reached over to the lamp on the beside table. Perhaps that sound was his alarm clock. He had overstayed his welcome. When he had arrived at the House of Win tonight, the light from Mor's room had shined like a beacon on light- drawing him in like a moth to flame. And the book she clutched in her arms had scared him- made him wonder if something had antagonized her. If _someone_ had angered her enough to make her cling to her stories for comfort. But now that he was here, in front of her, he could see she was more than okay. She didn't need a savior; Mor could save herself.

Azriel switched off the light.

Mor shot up. Her power reached out before she was fully coherent, a flicker of defense feeling for enemies.

And that's when she found Azriel's wide eyes staring into her own. She tried to take steadying breaths, but the magic under her skin had awakened too quick. She was electric. Azriel could sense it, and he put his hand on Mor's, trying to be a steadying presence. Mor took one long deep breath. Her breathes were becoming easier and easier, slower and slower. "You're here."

"Your light was on. You were reading?" Azriel moved his hand from where he had placed it atop Mor's own and grabbed the book that now lay abandoned in the bed sheets. "Did the Captain get her happy ending?"

Mor grinned. "Happiness, yes. But it's not an ending."

Azriel picked the book up and set it on her bedside. She would want to find that in the morning. And he knew she'd be mad at herself if she kicked it around in the night and bent the pages in her sleep. He turned back to face Mor, who watched his movements in the dark bedroom. Now that he had shuttered the light, the only source of illumination was the glow from the city lights that streamed in through the four long windows. But Az was used to shadows. And he had no trouble making out every detail of her resting figure- the way her blonde hair stuck to her neck, the way one of her very bare legs was sticking out from under her blankets, the way she was turned towards him in such a way that he could see straight down that silky nightgown...

Azriel swallowed.

No one else had ever been able to gauge such reaction from him. But Mor had always been different. She sat up and reached over to her lamp, the same one Azriel had just turned off in order to give Mor some rest without being detracted by the annoyance of light. Azriel shouldn't even be surprised. Once again, Mor had done the very opposite of what he anticipated. Would the female ever stop surprising him?

He hoped not.

Mor flicked on the light and sat up in her bed, adjusting her blankets as she did so. She brought her legs in tight to her chest and cleared a space where her legs had previously been stretched out. She tossed a space. "Sit down, Az."

"It's late."

"It _is_ late. Now sit down and tell me why you're back here so late at night. What happened in the Mortal Lands, hmm?"

She was wide awake now, Azriel could tell from the inflection she used as she spoke and he way her lovely brown eyes poured into him as she waited for him to reply. He knew he didn't have a choice. Mor smiled greedily as the spymaster dropped down in the place she indicated on the bed. She sprawled across her pillows, her eyes never leaving his. "Tell me everything."

Everything, she demanded. And everything, he would give. At least, within reason. There were certain things Rhys asked him to to keep secret, an he would abide by the High Lord's request. And Azriel never felt guilty for keeping those things from her. Even though she demanded to know about his missions like a child begging for a toy, he also knew there were some things that Mor kept to herself. Secrets that the Third in Command shared only between her and Rhys.

"It was useless. I knew within the first minute we wouldn't be able to circumnavigate their borders in the normal way. These are not normal mortal territories we are dealing with. Nothing like Feyre's family. I could sense their shields before we were even in city lines."

Mor paused, taking in the information. "Something that powerful... high fae magic?"

Azriel nodded gravely. "Something is aiding them. Something or someone."

Mor asked, "Could you get a sense of the type of shield impeding your progress? If it was fire or sea or snow..."

"This was different. Nothing of the High Lords. Autumn Court fire has a feel. Winter Court snow blizzards have a feel. But this...this was an ancient sort of power." Azriel shook away the feel of it. The crawl of it had shaken him. He pulled his spies away as soon as he had sensed the chill running through him in the Mortal Lands, and then the had spent the next few hours senselessly trying to work past the unease of the strength that radiated from the Queen's Court. But it had all been for nothing. Azriel shook of the sick feeling of defeat. For him, there was no defeat. "Tomorrow will be different. We've come up with a new plan."

"That's where you were? With your spies planning?"

Azriel nodded once.

"Mmm. Did you get to see Feyre today?"

Mor's head rested innocently against her hand, but those eyes looked far from casual. Her demeanor had changed into one Azriel had seen many times. No longer was he chatting with his effervescent, chatty friend. No, the woman across from him now was all business. A hunter and her prey. Unfortunately for Mor, Azriel was not one who enjoyed being hunted.

"Do you already know the answer to that question?"

Mor grinned. "You're no fun. Can't you just humor me, spymaster?"

"What did Cassian tell you?" Azriel asked, narrowing his eyes, suddenly begging his shadows to return. It wasn't often he called upon his dark senses, but he had found from experience that when Mor was in a predatory mood, sometimes it was better to have backup. And at his command, as swift as an army, his shadows returned in full force eager to report on any small, otherworldly inflections that Azriel's fae body would not be able to detect on it's own. Mor narrowed her eyes at the site of the marks returning to Azriel's face.

"Feeling defensive, Az?"

 _Nuala. Old. Amren. Storm. Lightning. Nuala. Cassian._

Azriel tried to make sense of what the shadows whispered furiously to him, in fragments, broken pieces of which he could barely decipher.

"Amren visited me tonight you know," Mor said. He had not known. She moved one of her pillows aside so that she could roll and now lay flat on her back staring up at the ceiling. Azriel ignored the shadows whispering to him as he watched her. Her hands clasped behind her head and her eyes closed. He watched her lips move as she spoke. "She found me alone here. I guess she figured that would be the perfect time to find me and taunt me."

"She tried to start a fight with you?" Azriel asked, filling in the unspoken words. He knew how Mor and Amren operated. He had watched them bait one another enough times to understand why Amren would seek out Mor. And he had been there with Feyre earlier in the sparring ring when she had hurled Mor's name at Cassian with such menace. It made Azriel's chest hurt to even think that Mor had found about that moment at all, but the idea that it had come from Amren made him seethe. Was it just a coincidence that Mor was talking about these things? She couldn't really know what Feyre had called Cassian...could she?"

Azriel's eyes shot to the book of Phyrian Faeiry Myths he had set on Mor's bedside table. Her security blanket.

"Mor..." Azriel's voice was soft, questioning.

"Nuala told her," Mor answered. "And she told me." Her eyes opened and she met his stare. "Sorry if you had to fly home in my storm."

"Did you get in a fight?" Azriel had to know. Did they spar? His eyes ran over her limbs quickly searching her for a trace of any new scares. Or the hint that she had been even remotely harmed by her interaction with Amren.

"No. No fight for me." She smiled wryly. "Can you believe it, Az? I actually walked away from a fight for once."

His instincts pulled him closer to where she lay. He extended his hand until it connected with hers. It happened so instinctively he could barely even process the action. But when she smirked at him like that...she had no idea the things she could make him do. The kind of power she could wield over him. Azriel ran his fingers over her palm. He thanked the Cauldron that the fire his half brothers had scared his hands with had not ridden him of the ability to feel the details of Mor's hands. Gently, he traced her fingers with own, steadying their fragile details as if he gripped too hard she might fly off like a startled bird.

"Az." His name was a breath on her lips, barely a whispered. And yet she might have been shouting.

"I prefer you as a warrior," he said. And she gripped his hand then. Hard and unyielding. "Don't let her get away with it next time."

Mor nodded against her sheets, her hair sliding over face. "Will you read me one story before you go?"

"One story," he conceded. "But I get to choose this time."


End file.
